they call me crazy. but i'm n o t . open

[Jumper]

It had been a long day of roaming the city, trying not to get in anybody's way, avoid trouble, and selling all ninety-five newspapers. Jumper had accomplished all those things though...mostly anyways. His hands were empty, his pockets heavier with small coins, pennies by the dozen. They were funny little coins. Sometimes when the business died down for a moment, he would take out the curious little things, staring at the intricate little designs on the sides, the dates, the Latin slogans, or some language like that, none that he knew anyways. He tried to bite a penny once...it didn't taste anything like gold.

He had to take the ferry home to his island, one of his favorite parts of his traveling days. The ride to America had been cramped, long, and depressing, however, riding the ferry was much shorter, and it was fun to wave goodbye to the buildings and then turn and say hello to Staten. He always sat on top of the roof of the small cubicle that held the wheel that steered the boat. It had the best view, and he could feel the wind tousling his hair. He felt like he could reach out and touch the sunset. He was just where he wanted to be, where he could see everything.

He sat cross legged, his bag in his lap, holding the three apples he had splurged on earlier, a small loaf of bread, the newspaper he had kept for himself, and a pamphlet about physiological help. A woman was handing out informational brochures of all kinds, and that one had caught Jumper's attention. He held it in his ink stained hands gingerly, eying the cover. It wouldn't do any harm to learn about these things, to just...make sure that he wasn't one of these people, that he was mentally healthy. Not that he needed to convince himself of that. He knew that. Maybe if he had proof that he wasn't, he could convince the others.

He turned to the middle section, flipping through it, skimming and scanning, until his eyes fell on a section called "Symptoms". Okay, well, he only freaked out every once in a while, and he usually had a good reason to. He lived a pretty normal life...didn't he? He wasn't reliving his past, not really. He diverted his gaze from the pamphlet worriedly, staring at the deck to calm himself and reassure himself that he was perfectly normal...mostly. His gaze rested on a little boy with sun colored hair, trying to see over the railing. His Mother hoisted him up, holding him close as the little boy pointed at different sights, exclaiming excitedly about them. He tore his gaze away, wishing the tight feeling in his chest would go away.

He wasn't crazy. He had simply lost somebody in his life, had watched her suffer at the hand of his own father, how could he be expected to be perfectly fine after that? Everybody loses something they love sometime in their life, it will only be a matter of time. To say he was crazy...well, maybe they were the crazy ones and he was normal. Who could know?

[Peep]

Peep leaned on the railing of the Staten Island ferry, looking out over the waves of the ocean as Manhattan grew smaller and Staten Island larger. His island. Spot could have Brooklyn, he had Staten Island. Peep's chest swelled with pride as he gazed upon the Island. Sometimes, Peep would just ride the ferry back and forth all day. It was quite peaceful.

Peep had gone on a scouting mission that day, hanging mostly around Midtown. He was not known, being new and all to the spot light, and even with his bright blonde hair, he did not stand out that much. He was a quiet young man who had big dreams in his head and money in his pocket. Peep knew he was lucky. His father was a rich merchant in Salem, his mother came from a rich family in Europe, he would never have to work a day in his life.

But he had chosen to come to New York and care for Uncle Alfie, a distant and ancient relative. He had chosen to lie to his parents about Alfie's death, he had chosen to stay in Staten Island and make his own living, frankly, he was tired of his father telling him that he would inherit the family business. He did not want to be a rich, spolit socialite. Peep heard something behind him, up above. Thinking a large pigeon was aiming for his head, he turned and saw a young man sitting on the roof of the captain's box, or whatever it was.

Peep shaded his eyes with his hands and looked up into the boy's face. "Do I know you?" He asked carefully, trying to be heard over the chatter and general noise. "Ah! The boy with the bread and pepper, right? The one who was playing cards against himself?" Peep asked, smiling. Now it made sense. Since he was quiet, he did not get to know a lot of people. He knew Darling from the beach; Princess from the pier; Missy from well, everywhere; and he knew Entertainer, yes, he certainly knew Entertainer. But he did not know this one. Had heard of him, but never met him.

"Jumper, is it?" Peep asked kindly, smiling. He looked around, found nothing to boost himself onto the roof with, so, he laid his hands on the side and pulled himself up onto the roof. The captain gave him a sour look, but he ignored it. Peep sat next to Jumper and noticed his pamphlet. "What are you reading? It's not anything to difficult, is it?" He asked, trying to make out the words. The sun was still in Peep's eyes.

Peep thought back to when he was even lower on the New York food chain, when he was just a boy from Massachusetts who overheard things he shouldn't and remembered them. That had proved most useful in making allies, and though he hated to think about it, enemies. He twiddled his thumbs and played with his shoelaces, his new shoelaces to go with his new shoes, and waited patiently. "I heard you put dynamite into a detective's lunch box. Dangerous game, that is." he said, unable to hold back his laughter. That was a highlight that he wanted to remember for a long time to come.

[Jumper]

Jumper continued his pondering, wondering what made a person normal. He wasn't really sure. He remembered the harsh stone-faced woman at the workhouse in London, who served them their meager bowls of gruel. He had always sworn if the hairs on her face grew any longer, she would have a beard just like the master. He hadn't thought that normal. So what made him abnormal? Was it because he ran around scaring people and then dashing off into the shadows laughing like a madman? Or was it that he liked watching things blow up? Destruction. Was that a bad thing? It wasn't his fault he found that exciting, was it?

He was distracted from his thoughts when he heard somebody talking loudly below, it took him a moment to realize the light headed boy was talking to him. The boy mentioned the things Jumper did around the lodging house, asking if he was the one who had done them. He just looked at the boy with one eyebrow raised and nodded, the boy seemed amused by these things, where others just seemed to back away or give him a look like he was insane when he did these things.

"Jumper, is it?"

He watched the boy climb up onto the small roof, and nodded. "Aye, it is." He knew the boy looked somewhat familiar, he had to be from Staten if he knew all these things that happened at the lodging house. He had a feeling...he was pretty sure the boy's name started with a "P", but then again Jumper was horrible with names sometimes. He was thinking about asking when the boy pointed out his pamphlet, wondering what he was reading. Jumper had nearly forgotten about it. He shook his head with a frown, "No, not really difficult." He shoved it in his bag, looking back at the Island and the sun.

"I heard you put dynamite into a detective's lunch box. Dangerous game, that is."

The boy seemed amused by his stunts once again. Jumper just played with one of his apples, nodding, saying after a while, "You seem to hear lots of things. Well e' didn't die, did he? I don't like cops."

[Peep]

Peep smiled at the boy's quirky ways. "I knew it was you!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands. "Everyone complains about you doing weird things, but I don't think they're all that weird..." He told the boy. "I mean, what I do is weird. I stalk people for a living." He studied Jumper. "You don't know who I am, do you? That's probably a bad thing on my part, seeing as I'm your leader. Maybe I should spend less time in Brooklyn and Harlem and spend more time in Staten Island."

He held out his hand to the boy, dropping the subject of the pamphlet. But he did not forget it. He did not forget anything. "I'm Peep." He told Jumper. "I'm good a sneaking around and hearing things. I hardly ever forget anything." He said. He tapped his head, "Photographic memory my father said." He shrugged. "I just think I'm nosy. If I didn't live in Staten Island, I would be a bird, but then again, Spot doesn't like me that much."

Peep considered this view on the cop and the dynamite. "I suppose you're right. But why don't you like the police? My brother's a policeman. But then again, maybe New York cops are different from Massachusetts cops, eh?" He joked, trying to get the boy to smile.